


Shatterpoint III

by DarkShadeless



Series: Overseer Sar [34]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Friendship, Relationship Problems, is there a tag for that, recovery from unintentional brush with the Dark Side
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-06-05 00:34:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15158546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkShadeless/pseuds/DarkShadeless
Summary: Picking up the pieces.





	Shatterpoint III

 

 

Sometimes, life sucks. That’s an objective truth.

If you let that get you down you’ll get nowhere. His lover bailing on him, no matter how spectacularly, is hardly the worst thing that ever happened to Sar.

He pulls himself together and he gives Lord Beniko whatever she wants, until she lets him go home.

Theron’s caf is on the counter and his back-up jacket is hanging off his chair. Bastard could never be bothered to put it away, always claiming it would get wrinkles. He got _shot at_ in that rag, it would survive a few folds-

Sar turns around and leaves without ever making it past the threshold.

Who needs a bed anyhow?

 

 

\---

 

 

It takes Timmns hours of meditation before the yellow that has taken over his eyes bleeds back to blue and he feels somewhat like himself again.

Is this what falling feels like? So… clean. A break in his perception. He hadn’t even noticed. Or rather, he hadn’t cared. After all the time he has spent worrying over his predisposition, building it up in his head, it’s a little anticlimactic.

Ironically the Jedi can see the temptation, now that he fully understands that he had no idea what he was running away from. It isn't as appealing as Timmns expected. A rush, certainly. Freeing, in a way. Mostly, though, the whole exercise is tiring beyond belief.

The Dark Side, Somminick finds, is _exhausting_. He has no idea how Sith stand it on a daily basis.

 

When he can’t take the discreet fluttering of the Jedi Masters keeping an eye on him any longer, he makes his escape. That probably sets the tooka among the songbirds something fierce but he needs some space.

Familiarity carries him along the paths he takes every day, to the ruin of his shared office. Or maybe it's more than habit that guides him.

Sar is sitting in front of the cracked doorway in full lotus, propping his chin up on one knee. As Timmns watches he gestures at the mangled contents of their workplace. The Force curls from his fingers in gentle wisps. It floats through the wreckage and, with fine control fit to make a sage weep, it pulls a single shard of porcelain into the Sith’s waiting hand. There’s a small mound of them gathered in front of him.

Along the patched-up tear in Somminick’s self-possession there's a suspicious prickle.

With slow, deliberate movements he joins his co-instructor on the floor before he can do something he may not regret. Like turning around, stealing a ship and going off to murder Theron Shan, wherever he is.

Before he was a teacher, Timmns was a shadow and a damned good one if he may say so himself. He would find the turncoat. No doubt about it. _Under layers of conscious denial a whisper waits for him to acknowledge it. He could be better. Better than he ever was. More powerful. All he has to do is reach out and take what he wants._

He brushes it off with a sigh. What he really wants won't come to his hands with brute force. If Yon felt the need to strangle his erstwhile lover, he'd be out there hunting his ass down himself. He isn't.

While the grasping brush of the Force, treacherous in ways it has never been, doesn't subside completely it goes as easily as gossamer. Timmns can already tell he will struggle with this in the future. Not because it wants him, so much as he will desire what it can give him.

 _And it could_.

That's the most treacherous part of the promise. Despite what his Order likes to claim, it isn't _empty_. It will just leave him that way if he isn't careful.

But that's neither here nor there, for now.

How does one go about comforting a Sith? A _friend,_ who is too proud to accept pity, maybe even sympathy? What could Timmns possibly say? He has never been attached enough to someone to be betrayed on this level. Jedi aren’t supposed to open themselves up to such. All he has been taught to face this loss is couched in recrimination for allowing it in the first place. It falls so far short and Somminick is dismayed at how inadequate it proves to be, where push has come to shove.

In the end it isn’t him who finds words first.

“I hear you broke someone’s nose defending my honor.”

“Did I?” Timmns should be ashamed. He really should. It’s hard to muster self-admonishment, though, when the not-quite-confession brings a ghost of a smile to Sar’s lips.

“Such violence, Master Jedi. I’m appalled.”

“I’m sure you are.”

"My delicate sensibilities are _marred_ , I tell you."

"Beyond repair, I presume?"

"Entirely."

A knot inside his chest Timmns had barely been aware of starts to losen under the ribbing. Long as Sar feels well enough to take the mick out of him, he can't be out for the count.

 

They spend all night coaxing what’s left of the tea set into a neat pile. Despite how disheartening the task is, it does more to restore Somminick’s balance than all of Master Za’uir’s well-meant efforts.

 

 


End file.
